Truly, Madly, Deeply
by Precarious
Summary: Have you ever been so in love with someone, that you didn't care that they were pretending you were someone else? Made yourself blind to truths staring you in the face? Dora has. SB/NT, During OotP.
1. Chapter 1, Never

Truly, Madly, Deeply.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter Universe, or any of the characters. They belong to J. I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any money. Out of anything, let alone this story.

Warning!: This is a Sirius Black/Nymphadora Tonks fic… Their second cousins, which is perfectly legal, but not to everyone's taste obviously. Granted, the other incest, and would be incest mentioned isn't quite as squeaky. So if that icks ya, you're not going to like this. It also includes ever so slightly screwed-up!Sirius so there's plenty of sex, alcoholism and nastiness.

A.N. Hello! I've added the original story/first chapter so as A) the rest of the story makes sense, and so B) it saves anyone who reads it the trouble of having to find it themselves. I am NOT plagurising myself… As I've said in the A.N. in the second chapter, the account this story was originally under I've lost the email address/password to and therefore can't access it. It's been years since I've actually logged on to write anything. 'Tis good to be back . Please review .

I'm creeping up to his room again. It's been going on for months now. I go to bed around ten, then an hour latter I make the trip up to his room at the very top of the house. Every night I'm here anyway. And he always insists I'm looking like me, not who ever I had modelled myself on that day. Unless he's drunk. The he doesn't care.

To begin with I didn't properly understand why. I do now of course, but then… I used to believe that when he was kissing me, it was me that he was thinking about me. But it wasn't. It wasn't my legs he wanted wrapped around him. He didn't want to have to growl my name when he came. No. When he slammed me into the wall last night, it wasn't my eyes he saw staring up at him. It was Andromeda's eyes. My mother.

You'd have thought I'd have been disgusted; okay I was a bit, but not enough to tell him where to go. No. I'll never do that. 'Cause I've gone and fallen in love with the mangy mutt. And I kid myself that it's me he's in love with. And I 'spose in a way he is. He's in love with my representation of her. He certainly wouldn't want to shag her now. She used to look a lot like me, or I used to look a lot like her. But she was always a few years older than him. You couldn't tell at the time, but now… Well maybe I'm biased, as I can't stand her now. Ironic really. The person I'm supposed to be so much like, be it personality or looks, and I can't stand them.

I moved out when I was 17. We still got on then though. Sort of. No. It was when I tried to convince her of his innocence that really put the final nail in the coffin. And I think she might have believed me, but when she asked how I knew, and I said I'd met him, that we got on really well, she just went mental. And I don't have the faintest idea why. Anyway, it sorted opened up 'old wounds'. Old wounds that Dad had tried to keep at closed. The fact that I hated the way she tried to wrap me up in cotton wool. I thought this was just another manifestation of that. And she hated the fact that Dad spent more time with me than with her, that he supported me and realised I needed to grow up. So I left after I graduated Hogwarts and moved into a house with some friends form school.

Anyway, last time I saw her, she was going a bit grey round the edges, and she's put on a couple of stone's worth of weight. Not his cup of tea at all. No. He likes his girls slim and small. I remember once, when I was complaining about my height (or lack there of) he told me that he thought shorter girls were prettier, and that I was perfect. So that's somewhere I do have an advantage over her, albeit a small one. I'm 4 and a ½ inches shorter than her.

It's turned into a battle of sorts. Whenever I say something, something I know Mum would never say, and he laughs, or smiles, I'm happy. Because it's another small victory against her.

I'm at his door now, and after I knock I hear someone stumbling to the door. I take that chance that he's probably drunk and morph back to the innocent blonde appearance I'd taken on this morning. I hate to see him drunk, I really do, but at the same time I like the fact that there's only two of us in the bed. And I hate myself because I secretly look forward to when he's next going to be too pissed to care whether I looked like her. And he always calls me Dora. It's what he used to call be when I was little. When he's drunk, and I know this probably doesn't make sense, I think he might love me.

He's just opened the door. He grins at me and pulls me inside. The bottle of 'Old Ogden's Fire Whiskey' he asked me to buy him yesterday is sitting on the antique mahogany chest of drawers on the right wall. But he's only drunken the one glass, judging by how little is gone. He must've just tripped before. Ugh, I'm gonna have to change back.

"Good Day?" He asks, sitting on the side the bed.

"Yeah…Okay" I say going over to sit beside him. But he pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me. Have I mentioned how much I love him?

"Mine's been crappy." He says. He leans forward and kisses me. Any minute now he'll ask. He pulls back. He opens his mouth. Here it comes.

"Sorry." I say before he can ask.

"Don't be. I've got a feeling it's gonna get a whole lot better." He grins again, his gorgeous dark brown eyes sparkling. God. This would be perfect if I didn't know what was coming.

"Oh really?" I ask raising an eyebrow in mock innocence. He smiles, and leans forward again, kissing me. His arms tighten around me as he deepens the kiss, moving his tongue over my bottom lip, which immediately parts to grant him access. I flick my tongue against his and he groans.

He pulls back and trails a hand up my leg, up under the hem of my skirt, stopping just short of my underwear, making circles with his fingers on the inside of my thigh. And I hear myself sigh and I'm clinging to his shirt desperately. I look up to see him grin, His fingers inching closer to - Oh god.

I don't -gasp- understand -sigh- why he -oh my- hasn't -lord- asked yet. It takes a damn sight more than -fuck- a glass of whiskey to -oh sweet Jesus- What was I saying?

He kisses me again and both of his hands come to tangle in my hair. One my hands reaches up to do the same, the other slipping under his shirt. I can feel the taught muscles of his stomach quiver slightly as my hand wanders up to his chest. Oh god I love him. I-

He flips me onto my back on the bed. He climbs on top of me, kissing me hard on the mouth. Then my jaw line, just below my ear. I moan and I feel him grinning into the side of my neck, then moving on to kiss his way down, changing sides to graze his teeth across my right collarbone, then kissing the red mark gently. He looks up at me, his scruffy black hair falling into his eyes. I feel my stomach and heart hurt. I wish I knew he was thinking about me. I'd do anything for it to be me. For him to love me like that.

At least I know that the lust that's darkened his grey eyes is for me. That it's me, at this present moment in time, that he wants to bed. But it probably won't be tomorrow. No. Tomorrow all he'll want is long wavy black hair, stormy grey eyes. Aargh. I wish I could just enjoy this, without having to worry or think about any of this shit. But no. I have to worry. Just like her.

He's comes back up to kiss me, tongue battling with mine. Always winning of course. Always.

He leans backwards, straddling me with his long legs. He cups my face with his big, long fingered hand, rubbing my cheek with his thumb. I smile up at him, and his hand moves, one finger moving down my straight nose, then stopping on my bottom lip, pressing down slightly. I open my mouth and he pushes his finger inside, smirking when my tongue licks the length of it, wrapping my tongue around his long, rough skinned finger. He pulls it out and continues to slide it down over my chin, down my neck, between my breasts and down across my stomach, making me shiver.

"Cold?" He asks grinning and leaning down to kiss me, again. Not that I mind of course. And I kiss back, lifting my hips to meet his, desperate for him to-

"Never," I breath, sitting up so he can pull my top all the way off. He tosses it aside, pushing back down on the bed kissing be hungrily, hands rubbing me through my black satin bra. Then his hand went down to my skirt, pulling it down, throwing that of the side of the bed as well. Then his kissing his way down, darting his tongue out to my belly button, making me giggle. Then he's kissing the inside of my thigh.

"My Dora," He growls

Then he bites, hard enough to leave a mark. And I moan, my hands going to his hair, then to his broad shoulders, and I can feel him smiling against me again.

Half an hour later…

He flops down beside me. I turn on my side to watch him. He says no ones ever done that before, had the time to just be with him, without doing or wanting anything or talking. I grin inside. Ha. Aren't quite as sensitive as you think you are Mother. And I really don't want this to end, because it's the first night he hasn't asked me to change without being drunk.

You know, in the beginning, I used to love the fact he asked me to change back to my true appearance. I thought it meant that he wasn't just fucking me for who I could be, like so many other people had. No. I thought he might actually like me for who I am. And I 'spose he does. He like me, quite a bit I'd say. But he loves her.

It's made me dread looking like me, because I don't see it as being my face, or my body. I see them as being hers. The eyes, the face, the hair, everything. Hers. In a way, I suppose you could say I hated myself. And if I were to tell anyone, they'd tell me that if I hate I so much, why don't I stop. But I couldn't stop, even if I wanted to. Because I'm in love with him. And I could never leave him. Never.

I wish I could say it. So he'd know someone loves him that much. That he's the best thing in my life. But I'm too scared he won't say it back. Or that he will and he won't mean it. Or that it's her he'll be really saying it to. But I do. I Love him. Sirius Black.


	2. Chapter 2, Mistletoe & Wine

Truly, Madly, Deeply.

A/N: This is the second and ongoing part of a story I have on here under another name, also called 'Truly, Madly, Deeply.' Like a blithering idiot I've forgotten the email I've got that account registered to (tATu_Black) as I haven't used it for several years. So therefore I can't retrieve my password either. So I'm not plagiarising myself, just a bit of a cock.

Warning: This is a Sirius/Tonks story. If you find that in anyway vomit inducing, please go back.

Disclaimer: I don't in anyway own these characters, or anything else Harry Pottery. I'm not making any money.

**Part 2.**

I remember sitting on Sirius' knee as a little girl. He would tell me such exciting stories about battling Death Eaters and his adventures and pranks at Hogwarts and escaping evil Aunt Walburga and the amazing gardens at the James' parent's house.

He also used to tell me how he would never let anyone hurt me. How I was his special little Dora B.

Turns out the only person that promise didn't cover was himself.

It's Christmas time. Harry and his friends are at Grimmauld Place for the holidays, slightly earlier due to Mr Weasley's accident. I've charmed the colour change tinsel to play Muggle Christmas music, much to everyone's bemusement. Hermione will appreciate it anyway. Nice girl. Clearly besotted with that Ron boy. Good heart but he can't have be a bastard to her. Boys. Men.

Sirius seems happier outwardly, but I seem to feel sorer and sorer from our late night escapades. His bitterness at being trapped here gets worse everyday, and I can see why. The house is vast in size and number of rooms and floors… But it's more oppressive by far than the cramped cottage I grew up in. The tall walls and ceiling loom out of the darkness at you, creating an atmosphere of unease that's hard to shake off even after you leave the building. And Sirius doesn't have that luxury.

I'm sitting on a bench in amongst a variety of weeds, some of which are taller than me. I've sneaked a full mug of firewhiskey outside and am demolishing it quite rapidly in the cool night air, when I hear rustling and the clunk of the heavy oak back door.

"Dora B."

"You haven't called me that since before you went to Az-"

"Let's pretend that never happened for tonight eh? It's Christmas Eve. I want to be happy. For Harry."

I shiver slightly. Sirius sits down as he takes a drag on his cigarette and sits down beside me, wrapping an arm loosely around my shoulder and pulling me towards him lazily.

I curl towards him, pulling me legs up beside me onto the bench, and offer what's left of the contents of my mug. Sirius grins and pulls out a silver engraved flask, which I know has MWPP at the top and 4 intricate drawings of animals underneath.

"Will you dance with me? Inside with the others?" Sirius glances nervously at me sideways and then offers that I can stand on his feet like I used to if I'm worried about tripping. I giggle and agree.

I'm being swirled around the room and I see Sirius eyes mist over and I can't help but wonder if this is something that he did with my mother. Dance with her under floating Christmas candles in front of his friends. Make dirty jokes in her ear as he dipped her and pulled her close and smirk at her giggle afterwards.

I see Harry watching us happily. He's tipsy on punch and is absent-mindedly playing chess with Ron. The pieces are all rather exotic looking witches, all in various state of undress, size and colour. They twirl about the board and wiggle seductively as Molly looks on looking rather disapprovingly at Sirius.

It's 2'oclock in the morning. Sirius and I are in the kitchen and he looks so funny trying to get the glitter I've just charmed at him out of his hair. He says he's going to teach me a lesson. I'm giggling and running away when I hear a noise by the door, but Sirius distracts me by catching me, spinning me, and pushing me into the wall. He kisses me bruisingly, pinning my arms up above my head and I moan drunkly, louder than I normally would in a house full of children when we are both too drunk to cast a decent muffila…Muffilati- …Muffling spell.

I distantly feel slightly colder and realise that my dress has been rather badly magically removed, judging by the pieces on the floor. I must remember to glitter him again for that tomorrow.

"Sirius…not here…anyone could come down… you mustn't take anymore of my things off…what if someone sees Sirius!" I try to wriggle away from his prying hands, but he pins me back against the wall.

"Let that be a lesson to you then, not to glitter people who are stronger and better than you."

"You are not-" He slapped a hand over my mouth to cover my angry shriek, and stopped dead.

I managed a very muffled 'Sirius…what…?' Before I realised someone was running off up the stairs.

Sirius launched himself off up after them, to do what I'm not sure. I took the opportunity, not entirely gladly, to reassemble my dress and right myself. By the time I had repaired Sirius' damage, he was back, looking horror stricken and panting.

"I…He….I…What on earth will I say? Should I charm his memory clean? But how could I… Wrong…James would never… Lily would… Harry!"

Shit.

Probably not what Sirius wanted to give Harry for Christmas, a live show of kinky cousin sex.

Marvellous.


	3. Chapter 3, Longing, Part I

Longing, Part 1.

Sirius was frantic. He couldn't settle. He downed some firewhiskey for courage and then went upstairs to speak to Harry. Personally, I'm not convinced stinking of drink is the best impression to make on a Godson you rarely see, and who has just seen you being intimate with a family member.

He may be getting himself in a state over nothing. Perhaps Harry rushed off and was just embarrassed. He may have no problem with a little distant inter-family love. Not that the family relating us is distant. No. I'm quite sure Sirius was never distant with my Mother.

There would probably be more stigma to our relationship in my Dads old world. Ted Tonks. Muggle born and reason my Mother was disowned. Or the final nail in the coffin anyway. But you have to understand; this is perfectly normal, and enthusiastically encouraged in proud pureblood families. It keeps the line pure. The money in the family grasp. The family reunion catering bills under control.

If Sirius and I were not blood traitors, and my Mother not one, I'm sure Aunt Walburga would be resting peacefully in her grave, pleased and content that the family line was continuing on the right path, and that more pure blood Blacks would follow.

Not that babies with Sirius is an idea I like to dwell on. It hurts my stomach.

After much pacing outside, Sirius finally knocked on Harry's bedroom door, hoping that he wouldn't wake Ron. He waited, and sharply whispered Harry's name through the door, but nothing happened. Either he was asleep, or he didn't want to see Sirius, in which case the courage of firewhiskey only extended so far, even for a man as brave as Sirius, and he retreated to his room.

I went to go up to bed with him, but fearful of him turning me away, I touched the door and went to my own part-time bedroom beside Remus'.

I felt tense the next morning as I got up, bathed and began to get dressed. I had a stress induced, what to wear! Dilemma, unable to decide weather I should dress more conservatively and demure for breakfast, or weather that would add emphasise what had happened, and that I knew he knew and make Harry embarrassed. I had been wearing rather flimsy and small Muggle clothing the entire Christmas period. And I wanted to look as appealing to Sirius as possible, as I was concerned that the events of Christmas Eve would put him off me indefinitely, anxious of Harry's reaction. How could I possibly compete with the son of James, Sirius best friend, surrogate brother? And the only link he had to his old life, one of adventure, excitement, friends, love and fun.

And hey…it's Christmas. I wanted to be merry. I'm ashamed to say I wasn't as desperately concerned about Harry's mental well being as Sirius was. To me what had happened was embarrassing and would perhaps cause a decent amount of awkwardness until Sirius and Harry were able to break the ice with each other and make manly jokes about girls and such.

To Sirius it was a serious incident. Harry had been raised in the Muggle world. He didn't know if Harry had been raised to think that sort of thing was dirty and wrong and sick. That by extension he would think Sirius was sick and wrong and dirty. That he would blame Sirius for what he had seen, as he was so much older than me. That he, as his Fathers chivalrous son, would see him as having greater responsibility. That he would feel that his only official parental figure had betrayed him, let him down, and that he was indeed, alone.

That, worst of all perhaps in Sirius' mind, that he was like his family after all, despite his fierce denials, and that he believed in the pure of blood being with like, family or not. Family all the better.

Suffice to say, I went with slut-wear.

I'm sitting at breakfast, and it is as much of an awkward affair as I had feared it would be. But I am pleased I stuck with what I would have worn anyway, I feel more confident as I smile at Sirius after he nervously hands me a bowl of hash-browns, anxious not to make hand contact in case Harry should catch him, have a traumatising flashback, projectile vomit and run screaming from the room at the sight of us touching. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead settle for stroking Sirius' leg under the table. After a few minutes the Sirius I love wins out and the hint of a smirk starts to creep onto his face before he manages to dispel it. He grabs my hand and moves it higher, as he arranges his face into a suitably sheepish smile for Harry.


	4. Chapter 4, Longing, Part II

Longing, Part 2.

It's Midday and by now everyone is quite drunk. Sirius started with a covert double in his coffee. He seems to have forgotten all about any concerns he had about Harry's psychological welfare and is opting for the 'if we act like it never happened, so will everyone else' method. He's swirling me around the room, hands sometimes holding mine, sometimes on my hips, back, leg as he dips me… Ron frowns slightly when he sees this and looks at Harry, but he seems pleased by our display of Christmas merriment. I don't know if this particularly signifies that he is unbothered by what he saw, or weather it has more to do with being in amongst a Christmas drunken family atmosphere, with his Fathers friends around him. Remus takes turns in spinning me, and this seems to particularly please Harry, so I ask him for several more dances.

Sirius said he had a surprise he needed to work on for me, and not to bother him or the attic for an hour. I'm trying to pass the time, and fight the urge to peak, by wandering the corridors idly, and I only stop when I hear Ron's raised voice inside his and Harry's room.

"But you didn't see them! It was disgusting, he was all over her and taking her clothes off and she was drunk, Merlin Harry she could barely stand! And they were going to have sex down there… We eat off that table Harry!"

I thought Sirius had seen Harry? I assumed he had, by the panic stricken way he had spoken… I should leave and tell him…I could perhaps even use it as an excuse to get a quick glimpse of whatever he's working on, but my curiosity as to Harry's reaction wins out.

"I don't know… I mean I'm sure Tonks knew what she was doing Ron… Did you see them dancing together today? She hardly looked like he'd taken advantage of her did she… If her dress had been any shorter your Mum would have called the Ministry."

"So you don't think it's weird at all? The idea of your Godfather stripping witches in the kitchen is OK in your mind?"

"I dunno… It is weird…to think of Sirius doing that sorta stuff… I mean… Can you imagine your parents-"

"Stop right there mate. I've just eaten half a dozen chocolate frogs and I don't want to seem them again."

I can hear Harry's laughter through the door and smile faintly. Sirius will be so pleased.

"I think it's cool. She's pretty, and funny, and smart, and if she cheers him up while he's trapped here on his own then what's wrong with that?"

"Well if that's how she cheers people up I might be having a breakdown at dinner…"

A.N. Just a short and light one folks, I am working on the next part, if anyone is reading this. Although I notice I've had a favourites add from 'XSiriusIsTheBestX' … thankyou muchly :D. More up later today hopefully, please read/review :).


	5. Chapter 5, Longing, Part III

I remember sitting on Sirius knee when I was little girl, very poorly with Bowtruckle Fever, and sighing very dramatically as Sirius stroked my hair and back.

"That's a very big sigh for such a little girl Dora B. What's wrong sweetheart?"

I sighed again, even bigger than the last, and look up at him through my long turquoise hair with large eyes.

"Well, supposing I die, I mean it's quite likely really, I've never been this ill before and well I'm really worried-"

"Don't be silly, you're not going to die, nobody dies of Bowtruckle fever love. You feel really bad now but in a few days you'll be running around and knocking things over again." He smiled down at me and patted my knee. He didn't understand. I remember thinking that he was becoming to grown up.

"No you don't understand, I'm not worried about dying silly. I'm worried that I might never be kissed. What if I die and I'm never kissed? You can't say nobody dies of it, my friend Ellimara's Aunt died of it, and she wasn't married and what if no one had ever kissed her? What a terrible thing to happen to someone, and I don't want it to happen to me and….and…" I trailed off and burst into tears, clutching at Sirius black shirt. How ridiculous he must have found me, but instead of laughing, he reached down and tipped my chin up so that I was looking at him. He leaned down slowly, and my eyes went as big as dinner plates as I felt his breath on my mouth, then he gently kissed me on the lips, pulled back and patted my hair.

"There now Dora B. You've been kissed. Do you feel better?"

I frown slightly. While it was very nice of Sirius to kiss me, it wasn't a proper kiss. Not like in the Muggle films that Mum and Dad watch. The girls get wrapped up in the mans arms and it lasts loads longer and their mouths aren't pressed tightly closed. And it's not all gentle like that.

"But that wasn't a proper kiss. I mean a proper kiss, like in the Muggle films and like how I saw you kiss that girl at the Yule Ball in Hogsmeade last year and…." I trail off thinking of more examples, but Sirius laughs at me finally. I scowl and turn away, making to stand up when he grabs me and pulls me close. For one heart stopping moment I think he's going to kiss me, properly, and my small stomach flutters with butterflies.

"I promise to kiss you properly, before you die."

Every single day that Sirius was in Azkaban I felt angry. Because he'd broken his promise. Mum told me when I was old enough that Sirius wasn't just away, that he wouldn't be coming back because he'd done some very bad things. But that I should still love him, because he loved me. I longed for it to all be a terrible dream. I still long for that.

Ginny has been talking to me. We were decorating one of the rooms just before Christmas. She asked if my first kiss was special. I hesitated, but told her the story. I said before I could stop myself that it was the most special moment of my life. She looked shocked and slightly disappointed. Her first kiss was not hers. It was not from whom she wanted it to be from. That poor girl. I know how she feels. All the people I dated and kissed and slept with whilst Sirius was in Azkaban and on the run, I was never in love with. It never felt quite right. And now I know why.

I don't know whether it's possible to fully understand that you are in love at that age. But I certainly do not think it is impossible for to be. You don't suddenly develop the capacity for that type of love when you come of age. All I know is that whenever I was with someone else, from my next kiss at the age of 13 and onwards, I never felt right. My stomach would clench painfully and my heart would ache. I cried myself to sleep after I lost my virginity and I couldn't understand why. Technically, everything had been great. But I felt sick and had to get up and shower till I was raw. I split up with him the next day, and I still feel terrible at the thought to this day because apparently I broke his heart. It wasn't until after the first time Sirius and I were intimate and I didn't feel the urge to get up and leave for the bathroom to shower straight away, or to weep, or to retch, that I realised and made the connection. I might not have thought very much of my first kiss at the time, but I certainly do now.


End file.
